I have a tendency to Google things that I shouldn’t and scaring the shit out myself. You know, like when you have a headache and runny nose, and instead of blaming it on the common cold, you get ballsy and look it up only to be told you’re suddenly having a stroke, massive bowel blockage, and you’re two skips and a jump away from keeling over and landing face first into your morning bowl of Cheerios. If you don’t use Google as a health consultant already, don’t start. You’re treading into dangerous territory. Just say no.

Here in North Carolina, I feel like my house has been under siege from hordes of bugs. Even after an exterminator came by, and after the hundred+ I’ve killed, (or I’ve told my husband to kill as I scream in bloody terror, rocking back forth on the couch in the fetal position in tears,) they don’t stop! It’s insanity. So, I thought I’d take to Google to figure out what type of bug was trying to become my new roommate and… lover. (I mean, I did wake up in bed with one on my lip the other day… so I’m only assuming it wants to be.)

It’s simply called a ‘house centipede.’ Okay. That’s fine… at least they are common and not coming around because of my terrible housekeeping skills. That’s a win, right? My cats are entertained for hours playing with them when they’re bored, so it’s a bit of a win in my book.

Then I scrolled through Google pictures and found this:

House centipedes can GET. THIS. BIG. And in some places in Asia people keep them as pets. A pet. Like the cuddly dog you curl up on the couch with at night to share your ice cream cone with. (Can you imagine the creepy crawling sensation when this monster walks across your neck? I’m gagging.) There is absolutely nothing okay with this. Nothing. It’s safe to say I will never be stepping on the Asian continent.

Sometimes it’s completely justifiable to drink wine straight from the bottle and spend the day on the couch hiding under a pile of cats. Maybe even necessary. Doctors really should prescribe things like that. Of course, issues might arise if you don’t have a cat, but you could always just borrow your neighbor’s. Forget what the Bible said – get over there and covet your neighbor’s pussy. Guaranteed to make everyone involved feel better.

This weekend has been dubbed sit-on-your-ass-and-do-nothing in my house. I feel like I deserve it after having such a stressful vacation. You know, a vacation from my vacation. It makes sense in my mind at least. So, instead of writing my own post, I’m going to share a guest post from a kickass blogger here – Becca Barracuda. She cracks me up. Plus, she shares an extreme love for cats and Harry Potter. She’s my spirit animal. Check her out here : The Married Cat Lady

My boyfriend and I had only been dating for about a month (if that) when we went to Panera Bread one morning after a night of drinking. (He has weird eating habits.) I had spent the night at his house, so I was wearing last night’s makeup and clothing, and I had a massive zit on my chin. And I mean massive. One of the women at work had asked me, “What happened to your face? Did you fall?”

“No, my face just hates me,” I told her, because of course, I couldn’t just leave the fucker alone. I had to mess with it. I had angered the beast.

My boyfriend and I were sitting at a small table, eating our bread bowls and minding our own business when an elderly man walked up to our table. He was at least 80 years old and came hobbling over with a cane and one of those newspaper boy hats on.

He was standing over us and said to Boyfriend, “Oh my! Are you the lucky man with this woman?”

I looked around to see what woman he was talking about. There was no way it could be me, not right now.

It had to be me, though, because there wasn’t really anyone else around (probably because most people don’t go to Panera for breakfast), and this man was hovering at our table, looking right at me.

I laughed. Boyfriend chuckled nervously.

“Stevie Wonder could see she’s a knock-out!” the elderly man continued, gesturing to me.

“Aw, that’s so nice. Thank you, sir,” I said both flattered and uncomfortable. I could feel my cheeks heating up.

“You know you’re a lucky man,” he said to Boyfriend in a slightly creepy, grandfatherly way.

“Yes sir. I do,” Boyfriend said, nodding.

Our new elderly friend turned back to me, “Are you from Tennessee?” he asked.

“What?” I looked at Boyfriend. He looked over at me and raised his eyebrows. “No…” I chuckled to cover my discomfort.

“Oh, well I thought you might be because you’re the only Ten-I-see!” He started laughing, a solid belly-laugh. Boyfriend and I chuckled along.

“Ha, ha, that’s funny! Thank you.” I then took a bite of my soup, hoping he’d notice that I wanted him to leave. (I do this often. You’d be surprised how many people don’t get this social cue. If I go back to doing whatever I was doing before you started talking to me, I am no longer interested in the conversation.)

He lingered for another couple of seconds. “Take care of her now,” he told Boyfriend.

“Yes, I will, thanks,” Boyfriend said.

“She’s a catch,” the elderly man said, nodding and looking at me.“She is,” Boyfriend smiled and looked over at me. I was pleading with my eyes, “Please make this stop.”

“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said, pointing at me.

“Thank you!” I smiled and waved as he hobbled away. “Oh my God!” I said to Boyfriend as he practically spit out his soup laughing. “That is possibly one of the most awkward encounters I’ve ever had! Look at me!” I gestured to my old makeup and wrinkled clothes.

“You’re a catch,” Boyfriend said, and then he winked.

When I got back home to my parents’ house, I immediately told my mom about it. Her response?

There is no better way to start off the summer than being trapped in the same house as your entire family for a week. Well, as long as you’re willing to have zero alone time, be bombarded by whiny kids, and have your mother nag you from the moment you take your first sip of coffee until you finally decide to sneak off to bed at 8 pm to find solace from some boring TV show. Learn from me, friends… don’t share a big house with a bunch of adult family members and little kids. The insanity is enough to make you want to rip your hair out and weave them into intricate dolls just to watch them burst into flames when you try to saute them on the stove. It’s maddening.

For the most part… we had a good time at the beach. (Even though I got so burned the first day out I had to spend the next three days in hiding.) Since I have a sun allergy, my entire body ended up covered in red bumpy scales and I was doomed to look like an albino cobra the rest of the trip. It was unsightly. Seriously. I’m thankful to have a husband that is never embarrassed to be seen with me. Because, wow… it was disturbing. My face looked like it was half blistered and melting off. I can only imagine how many kids I’ve scarred for life.

Anyways, I’m happy to finally be back. Ready to start catching up and reading everyone’s blogs.

Happy 4th of July to my fellow Americans. Hope you all still have your arms and didn’t blow them up from a fireworks mishap.

Also, I have another trip in August coming up where we will be sharing a house with Alex’s entire family this time. I’m going to need everyone to form a prayer circle for me. Please keep me in your thoughts. I will need all the strength and support I can get.

(Am I the only one that finds a sick satisfaction in peeling off the skin after a sunburn? I’m like a snake molting. Ah…)

Anyone else have an unhealthy relationship with Target? I’m a bit obsessed. I could spend hours walking up and down the aisles, sipping my overpriced Starbucks, and staring at all the bathroom decorations and trying to decide if it’s a good time to redecorate or not. The other day, Alex called me to make sure I was still alive and wondering if he should send a search party because I had been MIA for too long. It’s hard not to get consumed in there. I love it. I really do… but the employees hate me.

Target Cashier: Hi, how are you today? Did you find everything alright?

Me: I’m good, thanks. I found everything I needed. I’m just trying to convince myself to not get a Snickers. Sometimes it takes a lot of effort. I definitely don’t need one. You know what I’m saying?

Target Cashier: *awkward smile* Do you want to sign up for our RedCard today?

Me: No, thanks….. You know, I’m going for the it. Why not? I worked out today. Ate a salad for lunch. Plus… I’m already married. I would be going against nature if I didn’t gain weight and let myself go. So, I’m doing it. The decision is made. I’m about to kill this almond one. It’s only $1 anyways, right? That’s nothing. It’s totally worth it. Ring her up, kind lady.

Target Cashier: Okay.Do you want to donate $1 to end local child hunger?

I like to think I know you guys pretty well, so I’m pretty sure you are all plagued with worry as you fight sleepless nights, eat your feelings, and clutch your kids close while they cry into your shoulder and rub globs of snot onto your prized, limited edition Harry Potter t shirt. But I am here to comfort you with an official report: our cars haven’t been vandalized since my last post. (You thought I was talking about Trump or something equally scary, right?) After spending hundreds of dollars on a home security system and getting the car fixed by someone I was confident wouldn’t ruin it, I figured it wouldn’t happen again. That’s just how life works around here. Shit only happens when you aren’t expecting it. So, go on! Move on with your life! Nothing to report here.

(A pretty mountain river from one of our hikes)

About two weeks ago Alex and I went to the mountains for five days. I’m not going to lie… we did a terrible job planning our trip and solely picked the town because there was a casino and resort there. Great for nighttime, but during the day there was absolutely nothing to do besides outdoorsy stuff. You know, like hiking, biking, rock climbing, fishing, and other things you healthy, active people want to do in the mountains. This is not the case for us. We like our vacations to be lazy, filled with plenty of naps, alcohol, and so much food the thought of walking up a flight of stairs sends us into a panic over the idea of impending crampy doom. The mountains were beautiful though, so we managed to go out daily to try and learn how to do, uh… fitness. Next week’s beach trip is slated to be more our style.

I’m starting a new venture along with blogging (which I really need to do more of,) and writing my novel — Animation. I recently purchased a Wacom drawing tablet and Adobe Animate, and hopefully with hours and weeks of practice and YouTube tutorials (which are really informative, actually.) I’ll actually be able to draw my own mini animation series. It will be a silly/humorous show based off of Benny the Sheep. (The drawing in my blog header.) It’s been really hard to master, but I’m getting better every day and I’m excited to work on the episodes.

(Here’s the first drawing of Chester, who will be one of Benny’s friends.)

You ever have one of those days where absolutely nothing goes right? Like… all this random crap comes out of nowhere and piles on your shoulders until all your brain can manage to do is shut down while you sit in a corner and chomp on a tube of cookie dough like it’s a perfectly roasted turkey leg. My mind does this a lot in stressful times. I want to just notdeal with things that give me anxiety. It’s easier to hide in my basement in the dark binge-watching Gilmore Girls for the 100th time rather than actually, you know… live life.

Monday morning Alex and I were gifted a wall of graffiti on our car. Some young, shitty kid with terrible parents thought it would be funny to take a Sharpie to our freshly waxed Audi. Well, I’m guessing it was a kid considering one of the words this little prick wrote was “lamo.” I’m assuming he meant ‘lame-o,’ but… education has obviously failed this little bastard. Other words he wrote: “die, bitch, fuck you, stupid, haha, you suck.” We are dealing with a genius here, guys. Honestly, I figured it was an isolated incident so we spent a few hours trying to wash it off and called it a day. Until we woke up Tuesday morning and it was there again so we figured it was time to get the police involved.

The saga continues. This time I’ll give a point to Neighbor Boy. Subject to change whether we catch him on camera or not. If I can get the cops to scare the ever-loving shit out of him, I’ll award myself an extra point. #TeamBlair (Yes, I just hashtagged in the middle of a blog post.)

(Also, sorry if I missed/was super late responding to your comments on my last blog. Alex and I went to the mountains for a week, then when we got back we’ve been in a constant shitstorm of vandalizing and our cat had some medical issues that needed immediate attention. I still love you. I promise. *Wipes tear.*)

Blair: 3Neighbor Boy: 1

(Links to previous posts are below! Also in the middle of the post, but it’s a lot nicer looking down here.)

I had one of those strange moments the other day when I was laying down in bed with a hot cup of tea on my night stand and two purring kitties draped across my legs. I was happy. In my comfortable pillow-top bed with my favorite Harry Potter blasting loudly on the TV. (That’s the Half-Blood Prince. Obviously the best. Anyone who disagrees probably smells like farts.) I mean… can life really get much better than that? Doubtful. Then… I remembered what happened in Manchester the day before and started feeling guilty for having everything so good in life while other people are suffering and in pure devastation. I was ashamed of my happiness. Of how easy I have it. How amazing my husband is when women are treated like dogs in other countries (and sometimes even here, sadly.) For having family that would support me no matter the circumstance when others are dumped on the street and homeless with nowhere to turn. I was physically ill over these poor people who were murdered trying to enjoy a concert, when I was sitting in bed enjoying all of my favorite things. Life is cruel and unfair.

It was very much a “why me?” moment in my life. Except instead of being down on my luck and wondering “why is this happening to me?” it was the complete opposite. How did I get so lucky? I’m not even that nice of a person, so it’s definitely not something I deserve. I’ve been trying to come up with ways to actually help and make a difference. What do you guys do? I don’t want to be one of those people who post #prayforManchester (or whatever the current tragedy is) because it’s trendy and actually do nothing about it. Seriously, how many of the people who posted that on social media do you think really prayed or did anything to help? Probably not a lot.

It’s terrible how powerless you can be when there are so many people suffering.

(Usually I post humor, but I strayed from the theme this time! Sometimes it’s just necessary to branch out when the world is going to shit. Back to normal programming next post <3)

I wish depression was tangible so I could go all Lizzie Borden on its ass and swing an ax in its face 40 times. That’d be fair, right? Something has to be done because it’s not like it’s doing me any favors or anything. I’ve been hiding lately because, well… my brain has been in timeout. I should be back functioning and writing more often soon. There really needs to be a pause button on racing thoughts/doubt/paranoia/crazyshit so they aren’t constantly flooding our heads. All I need is a break. Is that too much to ask?

Alex and I are desperately counting down the days until we are able to leave for vacation. This weekend we are going to the mountains to hike/find waterfalls and stay in a resort in western North Carolina. At the end of June, we will meet up with my family and stay in the Outer Banks at a beach house for a week. We are so close, yet so far. In the meantime, I found this hilarious list on Reddit about real reviews of vacations people went on. Sometimes the stupidity of people is the best way to brighten your day. They are a good reminder that, hey… at least you don’t live life with your thumb in your ass and no common sense.

Here we go…

“They should not allow topless sunbathing on the beach. It was very distracting for my husband who just wanted to relax.”(Are you married to a toddler? Surprisingly, people have the ability to control what they look at! Crazy, isn’t it?)

“The beach was too sandy. We had to clean everything when we returned to our room.”

“No one told us there’d be fish in the water. The children were scared.” (Stop raising pussies. They don’t contribute much to society.)

(Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m just kidding.)

“Although the brochure said that there was a fully equipped kitchen, there was no egg-slicer in the drawers.”(It’s called a knife in most countries, dipshit.)

“I think it should be explained in the brochure that the local convenience store does not sell proper biscuits like custard cremes or ginger nuts.” (What the hell are these things? I’ve never heard of them!)

“It took us nine hours to fly home from Jamaica to England. It took the Americans only three hours to get home. This seems unfair.”

“When we were in Spain, there were too many Spanish people there. The receptionist spoke Spanish, the food was Spanish. No one told us that there would be so many foreigners.”

“It is your duty as a tour operator to advise us of noisy or unruly guests before we travel.” (Did you want the operator to change your Depends for you too?)

“I was bitten by a mosquito. The brochure didn’t mention mosquitoes.”

We are surrounded by geniuses, folks.Be scared.

Do you have any plans for relaxing this summer? Vacations? Staycations? Laying around on the couch like a vegetable while you stuff yourself full of ice cream and margaritas?

Remember when the hardest decision you’d have to face all day was what flavor Kool-Aid you wanted to have? It was an important choice, fueled by the fear that if you didn’t pick the right one it wouldn’t complement the taste of your Flintstone’s vitamins. I ate those like crack when I was a kid. When my mom wasn’t looking I’d crawl onto the counter and steal an entire handful and shove them into my grubby little mouth. She caught me once, and moved them to a place where I couldn’t reach no matter how hard I tried. That was the first time I remember wishing that fire would rain down on her. How dare she do such a thing! The nerve of that woman.

Yesterday Alex and I were having a lengthy conversation about Hot Pockets. I know… wtf, right? We talk about some random shit in my house. Hot Pockets aren’t exempt. When I was a kid, I thought Hot Pockets were the best invention. I even wrote a small report on them for school about their greatness. I thought that they were packaged in something that would, quite literally, keep them hot while they were in your pocket. Great for people who wanted a snack while they were in class or people who couldn’t take a break at work. I was amazed. What a genius idea.

So, I didn’t grow up wanting to be a ballerina or a veterinarian. I grew up wanting to work for whoever made Hot Pockets. My parents wanted me to aim high. So I did.

I love the innocence of childhood. Luckily, I’m surrounded by young nieces and nephews to remind me how great life is when you’re young. Actually, I’m going to leave y’all with a joke my 4-year-old niece told me last weekend that had her rolling around in laughter.

A hippo put on a purple coat.

…….. I wish I was as funny as her.

Also, Happy (late) Mother’s Day to all the Mom’s that read here. Y’all are strong, kickass women. I raise my invisible morning mimosa to you!

Ever love something so much you want to squeeze it so tight that its eyes pop out and guts burst all over your walls and decorate it with a nice red tinge? Sure, it’s a bit brutal like a scene from Dexter when he’s hacking the shit out of one of his victims and bathing in their blood, but that’s okay. It’s out of love, you know? My mom always told me it was the thought that counts, so… as long as you do it with good intentions it’s okay. (That’s how it works, right?) Anyways, the point of this ramble was to tell you guys that I love you. So much that I want to hug you so tight you can’t help but shit yourself. I really appreciate and have all the feels for this community.

Anyways, I was nominated for an award by R Cawkwell. Since I never follow to the rules to these things, I thought I’d answer the questions she asked, then turn and ask y’all questions of my own so we can learn more about each other. It’s a fun game, so answer them damn it! Or sit in the corner being a party pooper while you pick your nose. Whatever works.

She asked me:

When did you start writing? I started writing poetry when I was in junior high. It was absolutely terrible, but it spawned my love for writing.

Pluto: Planet or not? YES. Of course. Don’t disrespect Pluto just being it’s smaller than the others. Didn’t your parents teach you manners?

Favorite place to write? At my desk, I’m not hipster enough to write in public.

Pen or word processor for the first draft? Word processor. My hands hurt way too fast when I write by hand.

If you were a mythical creature, what would you be? A hippogriff. Because, uh… Harry Potter kicks ass.

My questions for y’all:

If you could recommend ONE show right now, what would it be?

Would you rather spend the rest of your life with giant testicles on your chin, or having hooves instead of hands?

If you could choose any celebrity to hit the sheets with, who would it be?